He thrust his hand deep into his hair and clenched hard.
Fudge tried to use the pain from his tightened scalp to ease the terror in his heart.
Only a few short hours had passed since the incident, yet he already looked as though he had aged several decades.
Scrimgeour's notice could be described as a blow straight to the head. After thinking it over again and again, Fudge felt it was time to accept reality.
Voldemort had truly returned.
Making this decision was not easy for Fudge.
Because it meant openly admitting that he himself was an incompetent clown, and that all the actions he had taken earlier to oppose Dumbledore, as well as the statements he had made publicly through the media, would become nothing more than a farce.
As Minister for Magic, this "laughingstock" version of himself could already foresee being nailed to the pillar of shame by the public for a long time to come.
But if he continued forcibly blocking information and allowed Voldemort to grow unchecked, what would he do when Voldemort felt his power was sufficient and appeared before the public with a vast army of Death Eaters?
At that point, he would still be a joke. And as the sitting Minister for Magic, Voldemort would certainly take his life.
Not only that, he would drag the British wizarding world back into the terror and warfare of more than a decade ago.
Then it wouldn't simply be a matter of public disgrace.
The enraged public would absolutely carve the name Cornelius Fudge into the history books as a criminal. They might even erect a kneeling bronze statue of him in the Ministry atrium or in Diagon Alley, so that every passerby could spit on it.
The scene would seem as natural as tossing coins into the Fountain of Magical Brethren.
Just imagining such scenes sent a violent shiver through Fudge.
At the same time, a familiar figure slowly surfaced in his mind.
Dumbledore.
Yes, Dumbledore.
The strongest wizard of this century.
Although Fudge had fallen out badly with Dumbledore earlier, even suspecting that Dumbledore's long-term presence at Hogwarts was entirely to nurture a private army and seize control of the British wizarding world, or even other Ministries, at this moment, the first person he thought of was still Dumbledore.
This was a great man who had protected the British wizarding world for more than half a century.
A light called hope flickered in Fudge's eyes.
He pulled out a sheet of parchment and quickly began writing a letter to Dumbledore, pleading for help.
As for whether Dumbledore would let bygones be bygones and assist him?
Fudge felt that wasn't really a problem.
How could a great man like Dumbledore stoop to arguing with him?
What's more, helping the Ministry now meant saving countless wizard and Muggle lives. Even if Dumbledore still held opinions about him, when the time came, he would act.
Of course, while shamelessly asking for Dumbledore's help, Fudge also planned to offer some concrete gestures of goodwill.
For example, Umbridge, the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, would have to be withdrawn immediately.
With the situation changing, Fudge no longer needed Umbridge to investigate Dumbledore's so-called private army or interfere with students' ideological education at Hogwarts.
Given the current emergency, Dumbledore could now be regarded as one of their own.
Fudge now desperately hoped that Dumbledore's student force was as strong as possible, better able to block Voldemort.
Additionally, Fudge felt it was absolutely necessary to publish a "self-criticism declaration."
This would both warn the public in time about Voldemort's return and conveniently allow him to shift the blame.
That way, even if Voldemort ultimately won, at worst people would say he was foolish, not treat him as an eternal criminal.
Three letters, to Dumbledore, Umbridge, and the Daily Prophet, were quickly completed.
But Fudge did not stop.
He wiped his sweaty forehead, damp from nerves, dipped the quill in ink again, and took out another sheet of parchment.
This letter, more than any other, was the most critical of them all.
He had decided to support Scrimgeour's decision.
Though Scrimgeour had been extremely rude, Fudge had to admit that the man was capable, and that what he said made sense.
In the face of the vicious Voldemort and the Death Eaters, it was time to lift the suppression imposed on the Aurors over the past decade.
No, not just lift it.
They should be given the maximum possible support.
This support shouldn't be limited to unlimited funding, it should extend to policy changes as well.
Fudge also planned to revise Auror recruitment policies. In addition to expanding school recruitment numbers and reach, he would further launch public recruitment and veteran recall programs.
People die for money; birds die for food.
Combined with unlimited funding, these measures should allow the strength of the Auror and Hit Wizard forces to recover at an astonishing speed, returning to pre-disaster levels in a short time.
As for restoring them to their standards during the Second Wizarding War, that would take time and grinding effort.
Although Fudge had not participated in the war himself, as an observer he saw things very clearly.
The Aurors' formidable combat strength back then had not come from brilliant commanders or training officers, it came from the brutal intensity of the war itself.
A devastating war acted like a fine sieve.
It mercilessly filtered out unqualified Aurors and Hit Wizards, leaving behind only the very elite.
So long as the population base was large enough and the Ministry could hold out long enough, full recovery was inevitable.
Of course, as a side effect of rapid expansion, discipline in both forces would inevitably suffer in the short term.
But that was Scrimgeour's problem to deal with.
And judging purely by the assertive way he had come to make demands earlier, Scrimgeour likely had great confidence in this regard.
After sealing the final letter, Fudge let out a long breath, as if a huge weight had been lifted from him.
He stood before a small mirror on his desk, straightened his disheveled hair and wiped the grease from his face. Only once his appearance returned to its usual state did he call out loudly, "Weasley!"
The office doors opened at once. Percy, dressed in a suit with slicked-back hair, entered and bowed respectfully.
"Minister, how may I assist you?"
"Take these confidential letters and deliver them immediately to the addresses listed. Don't use owls, have on-duty staff from the Magical Transportation Department Apparate them there!"
As he spoke, Fudge pushed the stack of letters forward.
Percy bowed again, stepped forward carefully, took the letters, and left.
Throughout the entire process, Percy showed not the slightest trace of curiosity.
Fudge was very satisfied, and finally smiled.
Unfortunately, the smile didn't last long.
Because just over ten minutes later, Barty Crouch Sr., his hair impeccably combed, pushed open the office door.
Fudge looked at him in surprise, then his gaze dropped to the pile of letters clutched in Crouch's hand.
They were the very letters he had just sent out.
When he looked up again, sure enough, Weasley was standing behind Crouch, head lowered, his face full of fear.
"Minister, I, I had only just stepped out when I ran into Mr. Crouch. He, he…" Percy stammered softly, looking utterly aggrieved. "He took all your letters!"
While Percy was reporting, Barty Crouch had already begun opening and reading the letters at will in the office.
This made a flush of angry red rise to Fudge's face.
He slammed the desk, leapt to his feet, and shouted, "You're not the Minister for Magic, Crouch! You have no right to inspect my correspondence! Put those letters down and apologize, now! Immediately!"
Fudge's voice was so loud it made Percy's ears sting.
But Crouch ignored it entirely.
After skimming all the letters, he directly tore up the three addressed to Dumbledore, Umbridge, and the Daily Prophet.
As shredded paper scattered across the floor, Fudge's pupils shrank violently.
"You dare be this disrespectful to me?" Fudge shouted. "Weasley, get the guards and lock this man up! Did you hear me, go, now!"
Percy looked conflicted, though a hint of disdain flickered deep in his eyes.
He couldn't understand why Fudge was still putting on airs.
Fudge was practically a commander without troops now, where did he get the authority to act so mighty?
Besides, it was Christmas Eve. Apart from people like them, with no families to go home to or strained relationships, there were barely any staff left in the Ministry.
Where was he supposed to find guards?
And even if guards did come, would those third-rate fighters really dare to lay hands on Mr. Barty Crouch?
On the other side, seeing Percy hesitate, Fudge grew increasingly hysterical.
At that moment, Crouch said flatly, "Get out."
Percy immediately acted as though he had received a full pardon and fled the office.
On his way out, he carefully closed the door behind them.
What Percy didn't know was that the moment he left, Fudge, who had been furious to the brink of madness, instantly calmed down.
He slumped despondently into his chair and said to Crouch, "Crouch, now is not the time for power struggles. The crisis we're facing is far worse than we imagined."
"The Dark Lord… alright, I admit it, I was foolish before. I was possessed by nonsense. But the Dark Lord has truly returned, and he's just as powerful as he was back then!"
His voice began to tremble. "I know you want to be Minister for Magic. I know you hate me. But right now, our top priority is dealing with the Dark Lord. Once that's over, you can take my position, hell, you can even take revenge on me if you want."
"But for now, at the very least, let me send those letters. Believe me, Dumbledore and the Aurors are our last remaining hope!"
He looked at Crouch with an earnest expression.
That speech had drawn on all his life's experience, rich in emotion, seven parts truth and three parts fabrication. It could rightly be called deeply sincere.
He believed even an old fox like Barty Crouch would be moved.
Unfortunately, he was disappointed again.
Crouch's expression didn't change in the slightest; he merely shook his head calmly.
"What do you want?" Fudge leaned forward and shouted in frustration.
This time, he was truly angry.
"What do I want? Hmm, that's a good question." A trace of a smile finally appeared on Crouch's face.
"I'll be blunt. I want you to stay right there as Minister for Magic, and continue carrying out your previous policies. That is, conceal the news of Voldemort's return, and continue opposing and undermining Dumbledore."
Shock flashed across Fudge's face, then his complexion turned iron-gray.
"You've defected to the Dark Lord?"
"Ha? Cornelius, I have to admit, your imagination really is impressive!"
Crouch's mocking reply made Fudge frown deeply.
He couldn't think of any other motive for such actions.
After all, continuing like this would destroy all of their interests.
After a long silence, unable to find answers, Fudge asked directly, "Then why are you doing this?"
Crouch's expression immediately turned strange.
He leaned in close to Fudge's ear and laughed softly.
"Of course, for a far greater good."
At those words, Fudge recoiled in terror, nearly falling out of his chair, pointing at Crouch and stammering, unable to form a complete sentence.
That highly recognizable phrase connected all the logic at once.
It wasn't only Voldemort who sought control of the British wizarding world, Grindelwald was still lurking.
Crouch had long since defected to Grindelwald's remnants, becoming a "Seer."
Everything now made sense.
The mysterious third force fighting alongside Aurors and Death Eaters in Gringotts earlier, they were Grindelwald's followers.
Grindelwald's plan was terrifyingly brilliant.
He would allow Voldemort to grow unchecked until the public despaired.
Then, at the darkest moment, he would appear as a savior.
How could a second-generation Dark Lord like Voldemort compete with Grindelwald?
At that point, Crouch, his inside man, would emerge in the name of the Ministry to submit to Grindelwald.
In doing so, Grindelwald would take power over the British wizarding world with absolute legitimacy.
And as a bonus, he could get revenge on Dumbledore for imprisoning him years ago.
The British wizarding world was finished.
And so was he, Cornelius Fudge.
Because in that plan, he was the ultimate scapegoat.
The public would neither understand nor care that he had been stripped of real authority.
They would only know that when the Ministry chose to let Voldemort grow stronger, Cornelius Fudge was Minister for Magic.
All the blame would be dumped onto him.
Then, on some bright and sunny morning, a grand Wizengamot trial would be convened just for him.
To appease the masses, he would undoubtedly be sentenced to death and executed immediately.
And those shameless people, Crouch among them, would stand atop his corpse, basking in the public's cheers and adoration.